


Ghali's Story

by Kabi



Series: November [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bride Capture, CarrierVerse, Desert, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Gender Identity, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Maledom, Mpreg, Romance, Traditions, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabi/pseuds/Kabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wait!"<br/>The sheikh paused, obligingly.<br/>"...Yes?"<br/>Ghali cast around for an argument to make.<br/>"It's too early! You can't do this! What about my father? You can't touch me until you negotiate with him! If you hurt me now, you'll lose your leg to stand on! He won't listen if he thinks I've already been harmed! You'll never get what you want!"<br/>Azim tilted his head, listening to the carrier babble, a small smile spreading across his face.<br/>"And what," he asked gently, "If you are what I want?"</p><p>----</p><p>Ghali, a young desert Carrier with a mysterious past, is captured by Azim al-Aera - a wild and powerful sheikh intent on making Ghali his bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghali's Story

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

It became abundantly clear to Ghali very early on what exactly he had been kidnapped for. First of all, the men called him by name, which meant that his abduction hadn't been random. They knew who he was, which meant that they knew he had changed. Which meant they knew Henrik. They had seen his bloodstone, too, and made some fuss over that, and Ghali also knew what that meant. He wondered briefly if it would have been better for them not to know, but decided that it had raised his value to such heights as would keep him alive. Mahir had given that to him, on the first day that he'd been awake and undrugged, and told him it was tradition. Shrewdly, Ghali surmised that it had actually been for protection; Mahir had worried about a situation exactly like this.

The two men who had guarded him on the jeep ride were gone now, replaced with two larger, steely ones who spoke less but dragged him more. They had unloaded him at a campsite somewhere very far south of the township, he estimated, and marched him out of the van and into a tent, where he had been instructed to stay, under penalty of death, to wait for his new master.

They brought him tea, and Ghali drank, gratefully - when his head began to spin, he realized it had been drugged. At least he hoped he'd been drugged, and not poisoned. But wouldn't a poison be painful? Not a senseless, floaty feeling like being inside of a squishy cloud that made his eyes heavy? Regardless, Ghali fought the effects and kept his eyes open just long enough to see a man come into the tent with a doctor's kit.


	2. Mahir

Mahir, who had been only watching the scene in silence, spoke up once more, his voice trembling.  
"Anthony. Please. What is going on?"  
Anthony didn't answer; instead, he slowly slid his gaze back to Cadmus, who had his head hanging low.  
"It's about Ghali, Mahir." Caddy swallowed a rough, tearful swallow. "It was me." he said, his voice was creaking and strained, "It was me, Mahir."  
Mahir was cautious, but anger crept into the edges of his words, and he spoke slowly to keep from being overwhelmed with the agony of what he was saying.  
"What do you mean, Cadmus?"  
Caddy blinked tears out of his eyes and moved forward, away from Phidias, who was staring at him, shocked.  
"It was - the boys and I. We - " Caddy's breath hitched, and he had to take a moment to recover. "We played together. They let me wear some of his clothes, and I dressed up like a boy and we went into town." Phidias closed his eyes, wanting to hear no more. Caddy's small voice continued. "Ghali saw me in the city. He tried to call me, to get me to come to him. But I didn't, so he left his escort to come to me." Mahir shook his head in disbelief, but the words were real and he could feel them. "He pulled me aside, behind this booth, and said I was being foolish, and stupid, and I had to come home right now." Caddy's shoulders were shaking, his voice ratcheting upwards in octave as he became more distressed by the retelling. "And I told him no." Caddy blinked and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I said I was having fun."

Mahir swallowed thickly, pain and worry and fear all rising up from his belly, unbidden and mixed with thoughts of Ghali's kindness, his sweet face, his insatiable desire to be close to his adopted family at all costs. Cadmus scrubbed at his cheeks with his sleeve.

"And when we came back out, from behind the booth, there were three men waiting there." Phidias felt sick - he didn't want to hear any more. But Cadmus was like a train, a bullet, a plummeting bird - unstoppable until collision. "They tried to grab me first, but Ghali pushed one of them and he fell and knocked over the booth and he told me to run, so I did. And the third one came after me, but there were too many people and I was too small and I lost him in the crowd." Caddy was sobbing openly now, and he turned to face Mahir. "I'm sorry, Mahir. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean any of it."

Mahir shook his head. His hands trembled, and his eyes had glazed over in some kind of daze. Caddy tried to step forward, but the older carrier held out a hand to stop him, shook his head one more time, then retreated from the room.

Caddy turned back to face Henrik.  
"I'm sorry, Henrik. I didn't mean to do it! I really didn't mean to."  
Henrik stared at him, his face expressionless. Then he turned away from his stepson.  
"Go to your room, Cadmus." Caddy hesitated, eyes on his father. Henrik glanced over his shoulder at the boy. "Go. To your room." he repeated. With just one more glance, this time at Phidias, Caddy backed out of the room and disappeared.

Henrik spoke again, his back still to Phidias.  
"You knew about their going off to play."  
Phidias squeezed his nails into his palms.  
"Yes."  
"And you didn't try to monitor your son."  
"I thought - I thought it was just harmless. I thought - he - I mean, they're just children. I didn't think anything would happen..."  
Henrik shook his head.  
"Then my wife is a fool."

Phidias' face heated, but he didn't answer back. Henrik set both hands on the kitchen counter and his shoulders sagged.

"Cadmus has not been a child for a long time now, Phidias. Not by the rules of this world. And your determined blindness does not change that." Henrik took a deep breath, then whirled to face the carrier. "Go to our bedroom. Now."

Phidias met his husband's eyes, unsure what to say or do. Part of him wanted to argue in Cadmus' favor - point out that his son was a child, only barely approaching adulthood and still deserving of some innocent fun once in a while. Another wanted to throw himself to Henrik's mercy and beg his forgiveness for what had happened, and was surely now happening, to Ghali.

Henrik had tried so hard, he suddenly realized, to make everything alright even when nothing was. He had made the tent, and brought wine, and given books and parties and jobs and opportunities to his wife and carrier son. He had allowed them to pretend, for however short a period of time, that their lives had not been ripped away from them in the passing of a single day. He had created an oasis in the desert for all of them - Anthony and Mahir and Denis and Tyson and Caddy and the boys and Phidias, and Ghali had had a place in it, too. And now Cadmus and Phidias, who had never wanted or loved or yearned for any of this, were taking it all apart. And beautiful Ghali, who had been obedient to every edict and command, every new law and code of dress, was the one with his skirts wrenched up, being raped on the floor of a tent in the desert.

It wasn't fair. And Phidias understood completely Henrik's anger for that, if nothing else.


	3. II.

When Ghali woke up again, the sun was going down. His head hurt, and he seemed to have an unquenchable thirst, which was not satisfied by drinking the multiple carafes of water that the guards brought him. He checked himself as best he could for pinpricks and bruises - he saw none. Perhaps the doctor had only looked at him, then. Guards took him out twice to relieve himself, but otherwise kept him inside and barefoot, his wrists and ankles secured tightly in such a manner that asleep, on his side, was the only comfortable position.

When night fell, they brought him a meal, which he ate slowly, by lamplight, before promptly falling asleep again.

He woke, hours later, to low voices and the sounds of human movement in the camp. Ghali opened his eyes, on guard immediately, and sat up as best he could, trying silently to get free of the thin bedsheets they'd given him.

Then there was more movement, heavy and specific, at the doorflap to his tent, and a figure arrived. Ghali froze, halfway between sitting up and lying down, and watched it. The figure took shape as a man, but his face was shadowed by the unlit room. He came closer to the bed, and as he did, Ghali caught a sense of the size of him, the intimidating height, the kingly proportions. The man leaned forward, his keffiyah obscuring his features. The thin light of a lamp flickered behind him - on, off. His face appeared, then was gone again. In the slivers of image, Ghali saw darkly tanned skin and a smooth, handsome face.

"Hello, carrier." the man said, evenly.  
Ghali narrowed his eyes and bit back fear, replaced it with disdain and anger.  
"My _name_ is Ghali."  
The man only looked at him, evenly.   
"Ah. Of course. Hello, _Ghali_."  
Ghali did not feel it necessary to respond to this. The man didn't seem to mind; he moved lazily around the room towards the bed, his movements proceeding with the same patient, curious tone as when he'd first spoken.

When he came closer to the bed where Ghali now sat tied, the carrier flinched away as much as his ropes would allow. The figure paused, then came forward and took Ghali's slim chin in his hand, tilting the face upwards. Startled and embarrassed, Ghali averted his eyes immediately. The man made an approving noise and released him.

"How long have you been a carrier, Ghali?"  
Ghali set his jaw and was silent. The man waited a moment, then raised both hands outwards.

"This is not a trap. No one is here to hurt you. Now answer my question: how long have you been a carrier, Ghali?"

There was some steel in the voice, some impulsion on Ghali to obey, and suddenly the carrier felt resistance grow strong within him. He was not obliged to a stranger. Carrier or not, he did not belong to this man. He did not have to do as he was told. Furthermore, it was not so long ago that Ghali had been a single-named street child, clinging by crime and his fingertips to the very precipice of survival. If this man expected a father-coddled carrier, then he had chosen the wrong one.

With vitriol, Ghali snapped,  
"I _don't_ have to answer to a thieving bastard like you."  
The sheikh's response was automatic, and the strike landed cleanly across Ghali's face.

Ghali held his position for a moment, stunned by the contact. The man leaned down so that their faces were close, and Ghali was tempted, by the proximity, to spit at him. He didn't, fearing retaliation. The man's breath disturbed the hair on Ghali's neck; the closeness was unnerving, with the man having just struck him, and now standing silent.

Eventually, the sheikh spoke, and said in a drawling voice with a curious accent,  
"It would have been easier simply to say, 'Not long.'"

~

A late meal had come and been eaten in silence; the dishes had been cleared and now the man, who had introduced himself as Azim, was resting in a makeshift chair across the room and staring at Ghali. The carrier, for good behavior during the meal, had been untied and was rubbing his wrist and ankles rather dramatically. Azim tolerated this display for a few moments before speaking.

"Let us be clear on things, Ghali."  
A spike of anxiety leapt up in the carrier's stomach, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. The sheikh continued.  
"I am certain that by this point, you understand what is happening here?"  
Ghali thought about playing dumb, but decided against it - he nodded tightly.  
"What is it?" the sheikh asked, testing him. "Tell me what you think."

Ghali looked up at him, met his eyes unashamedly.  
"I think you want to use me to negotiate with my father. For what, I've no idea. But you (or your men) have stalked us for quite some time now. You know what we do, where we go, what we love. What my father loves. So you're going to threaten to rape me, or maybe you really will."  
Ghali was proud for how he kept the fear out of his voice, the despair, the trembling...

Azim's eyebrows had shot upwards in surprise, and now his dark eyes looked troubled and perplexed.  
"And how did you cobble together the pieces to form that idea?" he inquired, voice both vexed and curious.  
Ghali shrugged.  
"Your men knew my name, before I told them. They separated me from my guards in the market. They knew who I was - they targeted me, specifically. But I'm not important, and I'm not powerful. My father is. And if you know who I am, then I'm sure you know who he is. And if you specifically decided to kidnap Anthony Duke's only carrier son, then I'm sure it was because you are aware of the lengths my father would go to, to have me back unharmed. So this must be happening for some reason, some political reason between you and him."

Azim raised a single brow.  
"And the rest?"  
Ghali looked embarrassed now, which was a proxy for fright; he hesitated again.  
"I think you think that's just the easiest way to scare me."

Azim nodded sagely, as if this were all very interesting and he needed some time to cogitate on what it might mean. He leaned back, resting his hands on his knees, the litheness with which he moved making his size seeming more all the more impressive.

"And is that what I'm doing, Ghali? Scaring you?"  
Ghali shrugged.  
"You're trying."  
"Am I?" Azim asked, with surprise. "With my soft bed and full meals? My gentle handling and orders to indulge? Tea and after-dinner conversations? Doctors to ensure your good health? Are you terrified yet?"  
Ghali glared at him.  
"No." he bit out, eventually. "And I never will be."  
Azim smiled curiously at that, and took a long sip of his tea.  
"Ah," he said, quietly, "Well. Well, well. Excellent."


	4. III.

Azim disappeared after their conversation for some time, and Ghali, who had been tied up again to prevent "incidents" in the absence of direct supervision, began to doze off.

When he woke, Azim was sitting in his makeshift chair again, a scattered series of papers spread out on the folding table in front of him. Ghali stirred and the sheikh looked up, his eyes humorously distorted behind a pair of thick reading glasses. Smiling, he removed the spectacles and regarded his captive.

"Ah. Awake. Do you have needs?"

Ghali nodded - that was what had woken him - and Azim called in two guards to take him outdoors, as they had before. Unlike before, they didn't bother blindfolding him, and so the sojourn treated Ghali to a good look at the camp in the moonlight. It was at this point that the young carrier realized two things: first, that he was nowhere recognizable (even the position of the stars even seemed slightly off) and second, that the moon was almost full. If his cycle came as truly as Mahir had predicted it would, he was going to have to make a difficult request in a few days' time. He frowned. But perhaps sooner rather than later; one never knew how a carrier's body would behave so early on.

Azim did not look up from his writing when Ghali was brought back, only gave short orders for the guards to set him down somewhere, remove his shoes and untie him. As soon as they had, they disappeared, and Ghali and the sheikh were left alone again, in silence.

"I understand you have a bloodstone." the man said, suddenly, still not looking up from his writing. "Am I to believe that you've had your first blood, but are yet untouched?"  
There was a note of skepticism in the sheikh's voice that Ghali didn't at all like. He had only been a carrier for a few weeks - what kind of life did this man think he was living?  
"Naturally." he snapped, then regretted it when the sheikh looked up sharply.   
"Yes." he corrected himself.  
The man simply grunted and returned his attention to the sheath of papers. Ghali figured now was as good a time as any to bring the small issue up.  
"My second turn comes soon, I think." he said quickly, face heating. "If you're going to keep me here, I need rags."

Azim looked up with an unreadable expression, and stared at the carrier for several seconds, frowning slightly as if working something out in his head.  
"You think." he repeated, slowly, then: "Soon. How soon?"

There was something in the way that he said it; some undertone in the manner of his asking and suddenly, Ghali knew that a misstep had been taken.  
"Tomorrow." he lied, smoothly.  
The sheikh's expression became amused, then serious.  
"Ah." he said, "Really?" he sighed heavily and set his pen down. "Well, I suppose we'd better do this now, then."   
The man stood and made as if to undress as he began approaching the bed, and Ghali sucked in a alarmed breath before he could stop himself.  
"Wait!"  
The sheikh paused, obligingly.  
"...Yes?"  
Ghali cast around for an argument to make.  
"Think about what you're doing!" he hissed. "It's too early -- what about my father? You can't touch me before you talk to him! If you spoil me now, you'll lose half your power. He won't _listen_ if he thinks I've already been harmed! Then you'll never get what you want!"

Azim tilted his head, listening to the carrier babble, a small smile spreading across his face.  
"And what," he asked gently, "If _you_ are what I want?"

Ghali froze. Azim smiled slowly at him. Understanding began to sink in.  
"Oh shit. Oh, shit." Ghali blinked hard and then rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. "Shit."  
The sheikh made a dissatisfied sound at Ghali's swearing, but the carrier paid it no mind.

"Why do you want me?" he continued, panic rising in his voice.  
The sheikh raised an eyebrow.  
"Ghali." he began, tenderly, "I think you are so new you forget what you are."   
Azim came a few steps closer, but kept his hands raised in an open and neutral position. Ghali was not reassured; his breaths began to come quick and shallow, and his eyes darted around the tent, panicked for an exit. The man went on speaking, slowly, as if to a child or a wild animal.   
"You are not going home, Ghali. Not now, and not after I contact your father."  
Ghali shook his head, denying, and drew himself up smaller on the bed.  
"No...no. Stop..." 

That was what all the niceties had been about. All the gentle treatment and the assurances. The doctor's visit, and the good food, and the questions about his bloodstone, and the papers. It had all been sincere. It had all been to make sure they could keep him. It had all been a beginning.

The sheikh's approach slowed, and he came to a stop at the bedside, just out of Ghali's reach.  
"You are going to be my wife, Ghali," he said, his voice firm. "That is an inevitability."  
Ghali shook his head.  
"No. You don't want me -- please. I have -- I've -- I'm in love with someone else!" the carrier burst out, flinching backwards as if he expected another strike, expected to be punished for his unfaithfulness.

Azim blinked at Ghali blankly for a few seconds, clearly waiting for more. When it became clear that nothing further was forthcoming, he spoke.  
"Alright. And has this someone else already laid claim to you?"  
Ghali hesitated, unsure whether it would be better or worse to claim promiscuity.  
"Not since my change." he answered eventually, deciding a partial confession was mostly a truth. Azim frowned.  
"Why not? Is he in the country? Is he capable of making a claim?"

Ghali hesitated again. Anders was young, certainly, but his claim would be supported by Henrik and the Firm, so yes, he was capable...he just hadn't.  
"Yes, he's here. And he can make the claim." Ghali answered slowly, then feeling bold, added, "And might any day now." and lifted his chin slightly.  
Azim rolled his eyes.  
"Your hesitation belies your contention. I don't believe this person exists, and even if he does, he earns no respect from me. If he truly wanted you, he would have claimed you the minute you were ready. And even if he, for some unknown reason, decided to dither over it and decided later that he wanted you, it's too late. I have you now. He is irrelevant."

Ghali rankled at the dismissal, but knew the truth in Azim's words. Anders had never claimed him, had never laid with him since that day, had not brought up the prospect of marriage since Ghali's change, and had not given even the slightest implication that a promise was going to be made. Ghali had thought on this before, but always summoned up some sort of excuse from the deep well of affection that he had for Anders. Now Azim was making the uninspired naïveté of his dedication to Anders plain, and it hurt.

Something of that must have showed on his face, because Azim furrowed his brow, gathered the cloth of his robes, and perched himself on the edge of the bed.  
"And yet..." he said, gently trying to meet Ghali's eyes, "You think of him." Ghali didn't answer, and Azim pressed on. "Why?"  
Ghali shrugged.  
"I love him."  
Azim looked the young carrier over one more time. The doctors had assured him the bloodstone was accurate, but one never knew...

"And have you really loved him, habiba?"   
Ghali's face scrunched up in confusion, but Azim simply pressed him again.   
"Did you? Hmm? Is that why you think of him so? Does it soothe your conscience to believe he will be your betrothed?" Azim leaned closer. "Did something happen, little carrier? Something that you wish to confess?" The sheikh reached out and grasped Ghali's chin in one firm hand, turning the carrier's head to force his gaze. "Anything at all?"

Ghali blinked owlishly, then turned his eyes away. The skin of his cheeks felt hot, and Ghali had to grind his jaw to keep from yanking his face out of Azim's grasp.  
"No." he snapped, feeling defeated and embarrassed and foolish. "He never touched me. You have your prize."


	5. IV.

Eight days later, Ghali's blood had come and gone, the camp had moved three times, and Azim had disappeared for two days before returning to his tent. It was late afternoon, and Ghali (who had the privilege of having only his ankles tied now) was reading quietly when the sheikh reappeared for the day.

"Come. Get your things. We're going to bathe."  
Ghali drew back immediately.  
" _We're_ going to bathe?"  
" _You're_ going to bathe." Azim corrected. "I'm going to stand guard." Ghali must have looked taken aback, because Azim smiled ruefully and shrugged. "Now that all in the camp know what you are...I trust my men, but I do not trust them that much. You undress only for me. Come, we go."

~

The bathing place turned out to be a blessedly nearby watershed feeding a summer pond and stream. The cattle had been moved off for the day, and Azim led Ghali upstream to select a spot to bathe. When they had agreed on a place, Azim stepped back to allow Ghali a degree of privacy in the mott of shrubs by the bank.  
"Go. Quickly. Shout if there's trouble. I'll guard from here."

Ghali tried to go without thinking much of it, but to have Azim so close, and himself in such a state...he shook his thoughts away and stripped down, taking his head scarf off last. With it gone, he felt truly naked and glanced nervously around, then rushed to the water's edge and stepped tentatively in.

It was cool, no doubt, far cooler than the air around them, but it had also been warmed by its own shallowness and the day's sun. Ghali picked up his soap and washing cloth from the water's edge and waded a little farther in. The bath was luxurious - since he'd been with Azim, he'd had only limited opportunities for cleansing, and mostly from the single basin of water they brought him once a day. Ghali quickly soaped himself, washed his chest and arms and between his legs, gently, like Mahir had taught him. He was bathing his legs when he felt eyes on him, and glanced up to seek out the face he knew he would see; truly, Azim was watching him from a small dune not far away. As soon as Ghali looked up, however, he gracefully turned away.

It was not unpleasant, exactly, Ghali decided, to have the sheikh regard him in that way. Azim was a handsome man, after all, and his wealth of dark hair and smooth, darkly bronzed skin were uncharacteristically beautiful for a man who spent so much time traveling hard in the hot sun. And then there was the strength of him - the seared, wiry strength that came along with the lives of his people. In another time, Ghali would have been a fool to turn a man like this one down.

But things were different now. Ghali washed his hair last, and thought. Azim was not an unkind master - over the week or so he had been with him, Ghali had seen him exert immeasurable patience with his soldiers, with his people, and now with his most recent charge, Ghali. Azim had listened, answered questions, played games, taught lessons, and shared stories all with the same quiet dignity and even temperament. He had made evident in his treatment of Ghali that whatever else he might be - kidnapped, artificially changed, an illegal ransom - Ghali was to be held in only the highest regard at all times. He had made clear his convictions, popular or not, and stood by them. He had not wavered in his promises. Even now, alone in the desert with an unclaimed carrier in his hands, Azim was making a rather significant effort to give Ghali his privacy. So much so that he could barely see him...

As quickly as the thought appeared, it fled. But then, emboldened by the lack of opposition to it, it rose again. What if?

They had traveled south. Ghali knew that much. South, many kilometers, and not east by much. How close was he to Wafra? Close enough to make it? Close enough to try.

Ghali glanced over his shoulder one last time, saw that Azim was conspicuously not looking at his bathing bride, redressed as quietly as he was able, filled the water canteen he'd brought along for the walk to the baths, then waded across the stream and started to run.


	6. V.

He didn't make it far, and he hadn't really expected to. It was lucky, in a way - Ghali had set of well into the afternoon, and the sun would be setting soon. The desert could be treacherous at night.

He heard the jeep before he saw it - the rev of the engine carried clearly over the sand - and turned to run from it. Cresting the top of a dune, however, the jeep caught sight of him and Ghali sensed the driver hesitate before beginning pursuit.

Ghali ran, but not fast enough. The jeep bore down on him, swerving in erratic patterns over the sand, and a wave of noise began to reach him - shouting and arguing and the sound of music. It occurred to him exactly at that moment that perhaps this was not one of Azim's jeeps, and the shock of the unanticipated momentarily stunned him - he lost direction and stopped. The jeep's driver, seeing his hesitance, revved his engine and charged Ghali. The cries from inside the vehicle grew louder and more frantic, rising in pitch and frenzy and sounding more and more like war cries, and abruptly Ghali realized that he hadn't really considered the possibility that Azim's people had been in a corridor, passing between owned territories. But he was close to Wafra, wasn't he? Who lived to the east of Wafra? No one, supposedly, but in the desert, all things could change...

The jeep fishtailed and swung out, closer to him now, gaining footing, sand spinning out from beneath its wheels and peppering the dunes behind it. Ghali yelped and burst forward, adrenaline high and feet pounding futilely in the sand. Even then, he knew he wasn't going to make it - there was no way he could close the distance, even if the jeep had been a hundred yards away. The shouting was louder now, and there was laughter mixed in, and Ghali worried that these might not be an organized group at all - rather, one of the informal packs of men and abandoned youth that coalesced, briefly and violently, in the desert and disbanded just as quickly.

The jeep skidded to a stop and Ghali heard the doors snap open and he ran, ran, ran, but his chest was heaving and even the setting sun was hot in the summertime, and the sand was yielding too much, then not enough and he couldn't find his footing and he hadn't done this in so long, not since he had lived at Wafra, and there were footsteps running up behind him, and his robes were tripping him, and then there was a sort of dull thud that he didn't recognize at first, but then he was facedown in the sand and a man was lying on top of him, squealing in victory.

~:~

It can at least be said for Azim's patience that he did not beat Ghali the minute they were reunited. Given the circumstances, of course, it would have been socially impossible, but the thought did cross the sheikh's mind, and he admirably restrained himself.  
"Cover him." Al-Aera snapped at the teenager who was ostensibly standing guard by Ghali. The youth scowled at Al-Aera, then hesitated before scampering off to retrieve Ghali's lost scarf and shawl.

Rahman, the man to whom Ghali had been brought, twisted his lips in some rendition of a smile and patted the carrier's leg. Ghali flinched away as far as his chains allowed him, and Azim tensed in his seat.  
"Such a traditionalist," Rahman rasped, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice, "To cover such a pretty thing."  
Al-Aera ignored this.  
"I have come to negotiate." the sheikh began, his teeth clenching, jaw obviously resisting even allowing such words to escape.   
A negotiation was between two civil men; this was extortion from a madman. Rahman hmm'd as if thinking his options over, and Azim took in his surroundings. The room they had found to meet in was obviously part of some long-abandoned warehouse building, and had been set upon in full force by Rahman and his men. The room stank, and scattered intermittently were piles of dirty rags - for wearing or burning, Azim could not tell - shoddily constructed or broken furniture, miscellaneous piles of mechanical desert-scavenged parts, filthy jugs that could be guessed to hold equally water or oil, and a worrisomely large number of apparently-functional modern weapons.

Rahman coughed into one greasy hand and laughed. His pink skin was burnt off in places - on his hands, along his cheeks and, Azim had noticed, the back of his neck. A foreigner, then. A man unused to the sun. A madman exile who had risen to some miniscule amount of power here, in the land of feral youth and villages of ghosts. He had a scar running horizontally along the brow of his right eye, and no name to give Azim other than 'Rahman.' His accent was curious, but difficult to discern beneath the rasp of his worn voice.

"The way I see things," Rahman began, giving again a malformed semblence of a smile from between cracked lips, "You have come to beg."  
It took all of Azim's effort not to command his men to attack at that moment.  
"I have come to negotiate," Al-Aera repeated, "For the return of my carrier. With many thanks for the care you have taken with him."  
Rahman reached out again with one hand to touch Ghali, and Azim did not miss the fear that passed across his bride's face.  
"And just what," Rahman inquired condescendingly, "Do you think you have that I want?"  
Al-Aera stopped himself short of actually answering that, and glanced away to think instead.

The youth returned with the rest of Ghali's clothes balled up in his hands, wrinkled and smudged with grease and some form of oily mud. He glared at Azim, then shoved the cloth roughly at Ghali. Al-Aera felt a wave of sympathy for his carrier that was immediately countered by annoyance. Ghali could damn well wear whatever he had decided to run away in, dirty or not. He glared at his bride until Ghali began, haltingly, to dress again.

"Water." Azim offered, finally.   
"I have water." Rahman answered.  
"Gold."  
"I don't need gold."  
"Oil."   
Rahman laughed loudly.  
"Do you think we are barbarians, Mister Al-Aera?"  
Behind him, the men gathered intermittently around the area laughed as well. Azim bristled and chose not to answer the question. Rahman reached forward for his cup and took long swallows of the dark tea in it. Azim had been offered none.  
"I believe," Rahman began, "That you are able to acquire something of much more interest to me." he smiled to himself, then his features sharpened. "One for ten. Carriers."

The room fell quiet as Rahman's men listened intently for the sheikh's response. Revulsion made Azim nearly vomit, but he bit it back and kept his features unresponsive.  
"Fine."  
Shock showed on Rahman's face before he recovered, glancing nervously back at his men and casting Al-Aera a suspicious glare.  
"And where will you get them?" he snapped, fidgeting his hands on the arms of his broken chair. Azim shook his head.  
"You leave that to me. But if you want ten, you'll have ten. So long as you give me my carrier now."  
Rahman again narrowed his eyes, feeling wrong-footed and sensing himself losing control of the situation.  
"And when will I get them?" he demanded.  
"Within the month."  
"I want them breeding-ready."  
Bile rose in Azim's throat. A buzz of conversation rose among the gathered men; somewhere in the back, a fight broke out.  
"They will be."  
The two men stared at each other for a moment. Rahman spoke.  
"If you betray me, Al-Aera..."  
Azim tilted his head in graceful recognition of the threat.  
"Of course."

~:~

At this juncture, Ghali knew better than to speak unless he was spoken to. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the floor of the vehicle for the duration of the journey back to Al-Aera's camp. Anger was absolutely radiating off of the sheikh, and the feelings he got from the men who had accompanied him were none too forgiving either.

They arrived back at the camp, and Al-Aera personally escorted Ghali, who had not yet been unchained, into the main yard. Azim's people milled around, some occupied with a task, some not; but all stopped what they were doing and looked up in interest as the group arrived and the sheikh's carrier was marched through the center of camp and into the sheikh's tent. The second they were alone, Ghali decided to begin last-minute negotiations.

"Azim, I'm sorry, I didn't know - I didn't think that there was territory to the east, I thought we were farther south, I thought I could - "  
"I don't care," Azim interrupted him smoothly, " - what you thought. I only care what you did."   
Ghali fell quiet.  
"You betrayed me. You ran from me. You crossed without treaty into someone else's territory. You disrupted everything. You cost us time, fuel, gold, manpower. You forced me," he snarled, leaning in closer, his jaw tensing, "To negotiate with a madman. You terrified my people." Azim's angry eyes focused on Ghali's face. "You pay for these crimes. Is that understood?"  
Ghali kept his eyes on the ground and did not look up at Al-Aera.  
"I'm not a criminal, I just - "  
Azim backhanded him without hesitation, and when Ghali glanced back up, the sheikh was standing with his arms crossed across his chest.   
"Is that understood?" he repeated.  
Ghali set his jaw, but nodded.  
"It's understood."  
Without warning, Azim struck Ghali again, and then again, and again, and again. When he stopped, his chest was heaving with emotion.  
"Now understand this, Ghali." he growled. "Never again. **Never** again."

The next blow put him on the ground, where Ghali found himself disoriented momentarily; he lost the horizon line, couldn't determine up. The room tilted and fell back into place. Al-Aera approached and stood above him, some kind of implement in his hand, and Ghali only then realized how badly he was going to be beaten.

Al-Aera stripped him down to his underclothes first and attached his chains to a post that had been set into the ground. Then he began.

It was his philosophy, he told Ghali as the whip cut into his naked skin for the fifteenth time, that one should never have to beat a carrier twice. The first beating, he philosophized as he kicked Ghali once, twice, four times in the ribs, should be severe enough that it remains in the carrier's mind forever. It should remind him always - this as the lash slapped down over already-wounded skin and made Ghali scream - that his husband is his leader, to whom he owes his obedience. He should never forget, Al-Aera said, as he beat the soles of Ghali's feet hard enough to make them bruise and bleed, that disobedience has its just rewards.

When he felt there had been enough of the whip and the lash and beating Ghali with his hands, Al-Aera brought the sobbing carrier a goatskin of water and held it for him to drink from while he lay collapsed. When it was emptied, he took it away and returned to stand over Ghali, a shadow against the firelit interior of the tent.

"This," he said, quietly. "Was the last time I will beat you. If you ever," he continued, and his voice was gravel and steel, "Ever try to run from me again," here, he dragged his hand over Ghali's painful feet, swollen where the soles had been worked over, "I will break both of these. Is that understood?" Ghali swallowed and nodded. Azim's voice darkened. "Speak."  
"Yes. It's understood."  
The sheikh paused, then straightened up.  
"And if you ever betray me again..." his hand wandered up the length of Ghali's body, down his arms, to his bound hands. "I break both of these." Ghali refused to flinch as Azim's touch moved on, brushing two calloused fingers across his chin, then his lips. "Is that understood, habib?"  
Ghali jerked his chin up, almost out of the touch of Azim and fire blazed in his eyes.  
"Yes. It's understood."


	7. VI. (The End)

Another day passed before Azim would so much as speak to him again. Ghali waited, constantly fearful of another beating, another bout of rage. But Azim held fast to his word, and did not touch Ghali again in anger.

The second day after the beating was spent in transit - they left before sunrise and traveled through the day until evening. Ghali was forbidden from leaving Al-Aera's sight.

On the third day after his beating, Azim brought him a gift. Relations between them had softened again, primarily due to Ghali's utter inability to envision any hint of an escape for himself in the future. He wasn't sure what had delayed Azim's claiming of him until now, but was certain his good fortune wouldn't last. He was right.

"Open it." Ghali hovered his hands over the package wrapped in rags, feeling rather uncertain about it. Azim prodded him gently. "Go on."  
Ghali took apart the ribbon that held it first, releasing the wrapping cloth after and revealing the package underneath. It only took a moment for comprehension to reach him, and he turned red and looked away from both the gift and Azim.  
"They are sheets."  
Brilliantly white, clean sheets, patterned intricately at the edges.  
"Yes." the sheikh watched his bride's reaction carefully. "Wedding sheets."  
Ghali folded the package back up and took a deep breath.  
"Azim." was all he said, but the weakness in his voice and the unspoken plea made Al-Aera sighed heavily.  
"Ghali." he replied, gently smoothing strands of unveiled hair back behind the carrier's ear. His touch lingered on Ghali's skin, tracing a cheek and jaw. Ghali trembled now, he could see that much.  
"Azim, I - "  
"It is time, Ghali." It pained him to rush his bride, but he had to be firm. "It's been too long already."  
Ghali drew in a short breath and nodded.  
"OK." he said, clenching and unclenching his hands on the package in his lap. "OK."  
Azim stood and kissed the top of his carrier's head.  
"Put the sheets on the bed."

~:~

It mortified Ghali to consider having to unclothe for his husband. Since he'd changed, not even Mahir had seen him like this; he had become fiercely protective of his modesty. True, Azim had seen him twice before - at the infamous river bath, and when he had been whipped after his return. But the circumstances had been different then.

Azim left him for a while, to let him bathe and prepare the bed, but he made certain Ghali was aware that guards waited just outside the tent. There would be no bolting again.

Ghali made up the bed first, fingering the delicate embroidery at the edges of the sheets. His sheets. Wedding linens were a gift to the bride. Azim had selected a fine set, and Ghali wondered where he'd gotten them, and how long ago.

Bed made, Ghali bathed and prayed for a while, then wrapped himself loosely in a spare cloth to wait for his husband. He didn't wait long. The fires outside had burned low in the camp and the rustling of footsteps and low voices of commands being given were audible outside the tent door. Ghali tensed on the bed and waited.

Eventually, Al-Aera made his way through the tent flaps, appearing again as a half-lit shadow against the fluttering cloth walls. He stopped short where he was, and looked over at Ghali, who pulled the cloth tighter around himself and shied away.  
"Beautiful." Azim whispered, reverently, and Ghali flushed. The sheikh approached the bed - quickly, but hesitantly, not wanting to frighten his young mate. Ghali watched him approach with wide, worried eyes. Arriving by the bedside, Azim began to undress himself, beginning with his keffiyah. Ghali looked on in shy fascination - he hadn't seen Azim in his nudity since they'd been together, and had only the vaguest idea of his body's form. He was not disappointed now - Azim seemed to grow progressively more handsome as more of his body was revealed. First, the broad shoulders and strong chest; now, the waist trimmed by desert living; then the thighs, powerful and defined. Ghali didn't have time to admire much, however, before Azim was settling beside him, tugging insistently at the cloth which covered his carrier.

"Show me." he pressed, kissing Ghali's cheek chastely. "Don't hide."

Ghali glanced at him - the gentleness in his tone made him seem almost unfamiliar. Was this the same man who had beaten him days before? Ghali relented in short order - there was no point in hiding, after all, from the man who would inevitably become his husband. There was no point, ever, in hiding from the inevitable. His hands seemed to disagree with him, and he had some trouble letting go of the cloth, but Azim kissed him again, sweetly, and Ghali calmed a little down.

Azim began slowly, and made evident that he planned to take his time with Ghali. Kisses were soft and pleading - never demanding, never too intrusive. Touches were gentle and came with warning - Azim's hands hovered for long moments before laying across some part of Ghali or the other. Explorations were done with only the most explicit of permission. Eventually, however, even Azim's patience began to fray, and he kissed Ghali more firmly.  
"Darling?" he asked, in that curious accent of his. "May I?" he accented his question with a gentle probing of Ghali's opening, and the carrier bit down on his lip to contain his anxiety and nodded.  
"Gently?" he asked, placing one hand on Azim's bare chest. "Please?"  
Azim smiled, and the heaviness of his features - the fatigue, the stress, the demands of this way of life - disappeared momentarily, leaving behind just the handsome visage of Azim, the young king, the man who had been thrust rather abruptly into life. He leaned forward and kissed Ghali.  
"Of course. Nothing else."

Ghali nodded and tried to brace himself, but Azim distracted him momentarily with another kiss, so that the penetration caught him off guard and he hissed out a curse that made the sheikh laugh.   
"Such a mouth on a virgin!" he teased.   
Ghali narrowed his eyes and tried to clench his nails into his fists to take his mind off some of the discomfort. Azim was not overly-well endowed, but he was large nonetheless and he was Ghali's first in a tender place only recently formed. Ghali continued to flinch and bite his lip for a little while longer, and Azim, again evoking all his self-control, stayed as still as possible.

After a few minutes, he felt inspired enough to push things further.  
"Alright, my love?"  
Ghali exhaled a shaky breath and nodded, and Azim gave him a rewarding kiss. Deciding that nothing was gained by waiting any longer, he thrust shallowly into his carrier and received a quiet moan in response. Taking this as a good sign, Azim pressed in again, going farther this time, and Ghali gave a little gasp but did not resist. Azim smiled and kissed him at the top of his brow, tangling one hand in Ghali's long hair that was now spread out beneath them.

It was difficult for them to find a rhythm at first, with Ghali balking at his sore spots and Azim out of practice and overwhelmed by the pleasure of finally being inside of his carrier. Eventually, they settled into a pattern of yield and seize; Azim braced himself above his carrier and Ghali held tight to his husband's arms as he lifted to meet his thrusts. It was over sooner than either of them had expected, and with less fanfare - Azim groaned, mumbled something under his breath, and came unceremoniously inside of his wife. He glanced self-consciously up at Ghali, who just gave a little smile and ran his hands over his husband's shoulders and kept his legs wrapped around his husband's back, savoring in the closeness. Eventually, Azim kissed him and retreated, leaving Ghali with the abrupt sensation of withdrawal.

Afterwards, Ghali turned over onto his belly, just to think about things, and Azim left the bed, retrieved some kind of salve, and rubbed it into the carrier's sore back for a while. After a few moments, he moved his hands to Ghali's neck and stroked it, then spoke.  
"Come. Get up."  
Ghali tensed up and pulled the sheet closer around himself. Azim kissed him on an exposed shoulder.  
"Come. I have to take the sheets."  
Ghali sighed and scooted to the far edge of the bed so that Azim could remove the linens from beneath him. He laid on the bare bed as his husband sat up, still nude, behind him and began to gather the corners of the cloth.

Ghali sat up, too, perched on the edge of the bed and watched numbly as Azim carefully folded the sheet, making sure to preserve the blood within. Ghali felt weak, suddenly, watching his husband perform this simple task. He felt helpless, and dizzy. Confused. Was this what he had wanted? No. Anders was what he had wanted. Anders with his gentle hands and his slow smile and his constant presence in Ghali's life. But perhaps on some level, Ghali had wanted this, too. He had begged to be a carrier, absolutely asked for it, even knowing that this was a risk. Knowing that for many who changed here, in his homeland, this was their fate.

Perhaps he had only wanted certain parts of this. Something different from Anders. Something stronger. Anders was untraditional. He was too soft, too gentle, too easy to survive in a place like this. The desert was a difficult place to live. And yet Ghali had never been able to bring himself to leave it. Wafra was his home. The sand was in his blood.

Azim had it too, Ghali could tell. The hint of desert-dwelling ancestry, the whisper of a distant tribe. Azim was strong, in the traditional way, the only way that mattered in the desert. He had fierceness in him, and the determination yielded from generations of families born under the scorching red sun. He did things for Ghali that Anders could not. Azim had come for Ghali like a king demanding his due; he had demanded and taken. He had desired Ghali, not for youthful dalliance, as Anders had, but for more permanent things - the creation of a life, a family.

Azim had gotten up by then and crossed the room to the door of the tent, carrying his bundle laid tenderly across his arms. He parted the curtain just slightly - not enough to expose Ghali to view - and passed the bundle through.  
"Make sure this gets to his father."


End file.
